


Taking the Hard Way Home

by Telesilla



Series: Afterparty [4]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, San Francisco Giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"They gave Cainer your locker," Buster blurts out. "And I just...I don't know."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Hard Way Home

_Spring Training, 2016_

"In the kitchen!" Tim yells when he hears the front door open. The kitchen's not all that far from the entryway, but still, it's a big house.

"Hey," Buster says. He looks subdued and he's quiet as he comes into the kitchen and starts digging in Tim's fridge.

"The crap beer's in the back," Tim says just as Buster pulls out a Bud Light. Buster looks at the bottle for a long moment and it's not hard to see what he's thinking. "There's Jack in the bar if you'd rather."

"Nah," Buster finally says, twisting the top off his beer. 

"I was going to do stir fry." When Buster nods, Tim starts pulling stuff out of the fridge. It's been oddly domestic ever since Buster showed up for Spring Training last week. Buster has a big suite at the hotel the single or unaccompanied players stay at, but he's spent all his nights here at Tim's place. Tim thinks the house is ridiculous--he's never been sure why he bought it--but it hasn't sold yet and right now, Tim's okay with that.

"How'd it go today?" Buster asks.

Buster's still not talking about whatever's bugging him, but Tim's fine with that. "Pretty well," he says "We're thinking we won't have to push the showcase further back. Again." More to fill the silence than anything, he chatters about his workout while he cuts up stuff for the stir fry.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Buster eventually says and then rolls his eyes a little. "Sorry."

Tim can't help smiling. After last year, especially after Tim's surgery, Buster's been trying to just listen when Tim talks about his recovery and prep for the showcase. To Tim's utter lack of surprise Buster's not very good at keeping his suggestions and opinions to himself, but still,Tim appreciates the effort.

There's a wok somewhere in the kitchen, but Tim just pulls out a frying pan and pours some oil in it. "It's okay," he says. "Sometimes I feel like we're being a little too cautious."

"I remember feeling that way back after the ankle, but it turned out they were right, for what that's worth."

After that, Buster gets quiet again and, unlike their usual silences, this one is kind of uncomfortable. Something's going on, but if Tim asks, Buster will just clam up even more. Not to mention that it's easier to cook when you're not having a heart to heart with your...whatever they are to each other. It's weird how after all this time--almost five years--they've never quite defined their relationship. Maybe, Tim thinks, they're both afraid to.

Dinner is more of the same. They're silent for the most part, only speaking to ask each other to pass things. Buster's determinedly using a set of chopsticks left over from the last time Tim got take out. He's gotten better with them since that somewhat embarrassing time they went for sushi up in Seattle, Tim notices. Buster seriously dislikes not being good at something and Tim's pretty sure the next time they go somewhere requiring chopsticks, Buster will be perfect with them.

In spite of Tim's determination not to ask, he can't help himself. Buster's finished cleaning up and when he turns from the fridge with fresh beers for both of them, Tim says, "Okay, what's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Buster says. He sighs and says, "no, not really."

Tim wonders what Bum's done now and then feels like an asshole. 

"You want to talk about it?"

Tim's not sure if he wants to hear this or not. Picking at the label on his beer bottle, Tim realizes in a sudden epiphany he'd rather not have right now, that he's almost hoping Buster's not enjoying Spring Training that year. Wow, he really is an asshole.

"They gave Cainer your locker," Buster blurts out. "And I just...I don't know." He rubs the back of his neck like he always does when he has to talk about his feelings without the help of bourbon or tequila.

Could have been worse, Tim thinks. In fact, if they had to give his locker--the one that's been next to Buster's since 2009--to one of the pitchers, Cain's the one Tim would have chosen. Him or Peavy. Not one of the new guys, who are just a reminder of Tim's failure to perform, or Bum, who's just...Bum. 

"I'm," he begins to say and then cuts it off. No apologies for things he can't help. "I guess it had to happen, right? And hey, it could have been worse. At least he's not someone you've hooked up with." 

The moment the words leave his mouth, Tim knows he's made a huge mistake.

"Thanks for that," Buster says, his voice tight. Beer in hand, he turns away from Tim and heads toward the living room. "Good to know you think I'm a slut," he says over his shoulder.

Tim winces, but he supposes he deserved that. "I don't think you're a slut," he says as he follows Buster into the living room. Buster's standing looking out through the plate glass doors to the desert where the moon is just rising from behind the mountains. 

"I thought we didn't lie to one another." 

And oh God, they've wandered onto thin ice now. All these years, Tim thinks, and they've skirted around this particular issue. Something about the way Buster came out swinging, though, makes Tim wonder if Buster was maybe looking for a fight. Like maybe it didn't matter what Tim said, the result would have been the same. 

"I don't think you're a slut," Tim says again and it's mostly true. Enough that he doesn't feel like he's lying. "I just...look, you have a lot of sex and you know I'm okay with it, but of course it's a little weird for me. Not you having sex with other guys, just the idea of sex itself. You know that. Maybe..." His voice trails off because wow, there's another one of those epiphanies he really didn't need right now. "Maybe it's not you I'm judging."

"Oh Tim," Buster says, his voice suddenly soft. He turns to look at Tim, but since no one turned on any lights in the living room, Tim can't see his face. "I wish you wouldn't."

"Yeah, well," Tim says. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make this all about me. I really don't think you're a slut."

"Thanks. And maybe I'm projecting. You know, taking offense a little too quickly. I kinda am," he adds. "Slutty, I mean."

"If you say so. You're not hurting anyone, so, like, who cares?"

Buster takes a breath like he's about to speak, but he lets it out again without saying anything. Yes, they're honest with each other, but that doesn't mean they tell each other everything.

"You're not, are you? Hurting anyone? Is everything okay back home? I mean, in Leesburg." Between Buster and Kristen moving and the amount of time Buster spent with Tim both here and in Seattle during the winter, Tim's not sure if Buster has a home. 

Maybe with me, he thinks, surprising himself. It brings back that old, familiar guilt--how can he think of making a home with Buster, when there's so much Tim can't give him? Quit, he tells himself and turns his attention back to Buster.

"No, things are fine. I mean Kristen's kind of tearing her hair out, but she's always like that when we're moving. She's getting plenty of help."

The silence is back and Tim lets it stretch out until it's obvious Buster's not going to say anything. "You're not hurting me," he finally says. He's said it over and over, but he knows Buster needs to hear it.

"Fuck, I miss you," Buster says. "It's just not right that you're not there."

"I'm right here," Tim says, walking across the room to stand in front of Buster. "I know it's not the same thing, but I am here."

"Thank God," Buster says. His arms had been crossed across his chest, but now he drops them too his sides. Tim can't see his face, but he can guess Buster's expression--tentative and a little wary, but patient too. 

Buster's warm and the flannel shirt he's wearing is soft against Tim's cheek when he steps forward, puts his arms around Buster's waist and leans on his shoulder. "Right here," he says quietly.

Buster puts his arm around Tim's shoulder and pulls him in close. "I'm sorry," he says after a while. "I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier."

"It's okay. It was kind of a shitty thing to say to you."

"I don't have to," Buster says.

"Don't have to what?"

"Be slutty and hook up with just about everyone the way I do."

"Wait, what?" Tim pulls back and dammit, he still can't see Buster's face very well. "Are you offering to, what, stop partying with the guys? For me?"

"Tim," Buster says softly. "I've fucked up just about every serious relationship I've ever tried to have. I don't want to...."

"We've been...you've been...." When he realizes that that sentence is going nowhere, Tim takes a deep breath and lets it out. "It's been five years. If what you do with other guys really pissed me off, you'd know." He tightens his arms around Buster for a minute. "You suddenly becoming celibate would be like me offering you sex; it's not who either of us are."

"Who are we, then?" Buster asks. "Because I don't have a word for it any more than you do."

Tim rests his head back on Buster's shoulder while he thinks about it. "I never really liked partner because it just sounds like a law firm or something, but, I dunno, I think maybe it works? For us?"

"Last time I thought about it, I got stuck on significant other, but I hate that. Partner's better, I think."

"Yeah." Tim goes quiet after that and this time, it's more than just comfortable. Before Buster, Tim never thought silence could be intimate. "Sleep in my bed tonight?" he says after a long moment.

For once, Buster doesn't make the attempt to talk Tim out of it or warn him or anything. "I'd like that," he says.

"Cool," Tim says. "You wanna watch TV now?"

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> After a unfortunate hiatus (because of...reasons), I've finally managed to finish something. After sniffling a little when I heard they'd given Cainer Tim's old locker next to Buster's down in Scottsdale Stadium, I sat down and wrote this. I owe Nancy a fic in this AU--I gave her the fic of her choice for Christmas and she asked for the homegrown infielders making Duffy welcome. Obviously this isn't that fic, but I seem to be gearing up to write again and that's all good. :)


End file.
